


To Remind You

by PunkPinkPower



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternative Werewolf Lore, Everybody Lives, Gift Giving, Holidays, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pack Family, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:44:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkPinkPower/pseuds/PunkPinkPower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles makes Derek a werewolf present for the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Remind You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for In Small Packages 2013. 
> 
> Let’s just pretend this is a happy 3A AU in which things don’t end in terrible sadness, alright? Also, I just made up the idea of Pack Wreathes. Feel free to use it at your leisure. 
> 
> Prompt: Ficlet, Derek/Stiles (Teen Wolf), werewolf Christmas traditions

He’s studying for finals and he’s bored out of his mind. He’s so bored he feels like his eyeballs might actually be melting, and he rubs at them and decides that this boredom might kill him if he doesn’t do something else. 

He’s wary of getting too sidetracked, because his father has made it very clear that all supernatural business aside, he had better buckle down and do well in school. And he’s trying, really, clearly, with all this studying. But he isn’t superman. 

Hey, he isn’t even superhuman. 

So Stiles closes the textbook. He gets up and stretches, does a couple of pushups and some feeble attempts at chin ups, a set of jumping jacks just to get his heart pumping. Then he pops open the computer and tries to think of interesting things to research.

He isn’t sure what makes him type in “Werewolf Holiday traditions”. It might be his morbid fascination with werewolves, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s thinking about holiday shopping and trying to come up with ideas. 

He doesn’t get much, other than the fact that werewolves gather on full moons, which, duh. He also finds some stuff about witches and other supernatural creatures dancing naked under the solstice moon. It doesn’t seem like a werewolf activity. But now the idea has him wondering. Do werewolves have special holiday traditions? Do they give special gifts? Do they drink special werewolf drinks? 

He picks up his cell phone and tumbles is absently in his hand. Who was likely to be the most forthcoming about this sort of thing? 

After a long time considering, he texts Cora. 

_Do werewolves dance naked under the solstice moon?_ He asks.

Cora’s text back is immediate and he can practically hear the eyeroll. _What? No! Why?_

 _Well, what do you guys do for the holidays, then?_ He wonders, smirking slightly at her indignation. _The internet isn’t being very helpful._

Cora’s reply takes a long time. _Why do you want to know?_

Stiles raises his eyebrows at the text. _So there is something, then? Something unique to werewolves?_

Cora doesn’t answer, and Stiles huffs a little and blows it off as her typical attitude. He goes back to doing other things on the internet, looking up cool designs and criminal records, and eventually drifts off in his chair. 

His phone rings at around midnight, waking him up. He rubs a hand over his face, see’s Cora’s photo on his phone, and answers it with a yawn. 

“Yo,” he says, and then he’s immediately cut off by her repeating her question. 

“Why do you want to know about werewolf holiday traditions?” Cora asks, her voice completely awake and all impatience. 

“Dude, I was just curious,” Stiles says, shrugging, “I mean, the internet isn’t always a reliable source, and Derek’s not exactly an open book on werewolf lore.”

Cora hesitates. “There is something,” she says quietly, “Something we used to do with our family. I don’t know… I’m not sure Derek’s done it since the fire, since it was just him and Laura.”

Stiles sits up in his chair. “What is it?” 

“We used to make pack wreaths,” Cora says, and her voice sounds fond. 

“Wreaths?” Stiles wonders, his mind suddenly racing and his fingers typing the words ‘pack wreaths’ into his search engine. 

“It’s complicated, and I don’t know if it’s a standard tradition or just something our pack did,” Cora admits, “But basically, you pick a person to give a wreath to, and then you find items that will represent every person in their pack and put them all on the wreath.”

“Items that represent their pack to them, or in general?” Stiles wonders, taking some notes just in case. 

“To them,” Cora answers, “So that every wreath is unique. Mom…” she hesitates again, and Stiles waits, “She used to put bells for Laura, because of her stealthy ability to steal candy, and sea shells for me because of my name, and pine cones for Derek,” Cora laughs a little through the phone, “Because of his prickly hair.” 

Stiles huffs, but doesn’t answer. 

“We used to hang them on our walls, to guide us into the New Year,” Cora adds, “So that they could be there to remind us what’s important.”

Stiles grins. “That’s a really neat idea.” 

“Yeah,” Cora agrees, but then her voice gets serious, “What are you going to do with this information?” 

Stiles considers. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Cora pauses again. “Stiles?” She says, and then continues without waiting, “Don’t make me a wreath.”

Cora hangs up, and Stiles pulls the phone away from his ear and considers. 

Well, she didn’t say anything about Derek. 

***

He decides to leave the made wolves be when it comes to pack wreaths. They don’t know about it, and if it was just a Hale family tradition, he doesn’t want to extend it without permission. But he does resolve to try and make one for Derek, and after a few days, he finds a way to circumvent Cora’s instructions and make one for her too. 

A charm bracelet is easy to put together, and it’s circular and can contain reminders of her pack, and it’s not a wreath, so he doesn’t feel like he’s breaking any rules. He puts it together in about two days, picking the charms out of various stores in the mall and grinning as he affixes them. 

Derek’s, though. Derek is getting an actual wreath if Stiles has anything to say about it, and he spends time in classes he should be reviewing stuff for finals sketching out ideas on the margins of his paper. 

An arrow for Allison? Or is that too close to home? A flower for Lydia, maybe, but then he thinks that might remind Derek of the wolf’s bane incident, and he scratches that out. What about Isaac? Broken glass? A box? What on earth can he put for Scott, since his relationship with Derek has pretty much been “Let me help” to Scott’s “Doing it my way” from day one? It occurs to him that Derek may not have anything good that remind him of his pack, and as the sadness of that sinks in, Stiles realizes he’s going to have to try a lot harder. 

***

On Christmas Eve, he leaves the two wrapped packages outside Derek’s loft door, knowing he’ll have been heard coming if they are home, but leaving without saying anything. He’s driving home when he gets the text from Cora.

 _Stilinski, you’re an asshole,_ Cora’s text reads, and Stiles snickers to himself and texts back, _You’re welcome, ingrate._

He stops at the corner store for some last minute supplies for dinner with his dad tomorrow night, and grabs a giant slushie because he feels like treating himself. He’s accomplished all his gift giving, save for his dad’s, and everyone has seemed pretty satisfied overall with what they got. 

He hasn’t heard from Derek, but then, no news is sometimes good news from that particular broody werewolf. He’ll take ‘silent acknowledgement’ over ‘angry snarls’ any day. 

He’s walking into his room, slushie in one hand and phone in the other, answering a text from Scott about plans for New Years, when he practically jumps out of his skin as something dark and foreboding moves out of the corner of his eye. 

“AHhh!” He squawks, and then is incredibly annoyed as his eyes settle on Derek. “Dude! What are you doing here?” 

“What the hell is this?” Derek says, and Stiles looks down to what he’s indicating. 

In his hands is the package, torn open, Stiles’s wreath sitting in it. “Did you run here? How did you beat me home?” 

“Stiles,” Derek says, and he gestures again to the package. 

Stiles swallows. “What do you think it is? It’s a pack wreath.” 

Derek stares at Stiles, his jaw set hard, like he’s trying very hard not to lash out. 

“It- Look,” Stiles stutters, putting his phone in his pocket and setting his drink down on his desk, “I just though, Christmas can be a really shitty time when you’ve lost people and Cora said this was something you used to enjoy, and I just thought…” Stiles pauses, unsure what he had thought, and he snaps his mouth shut. He takes a deep breath, and then reaches out for the package, saying, “Look, never mind, it was stupid, just give it back and I’ll get rid of it-”

“No,” Derek says, and he jerks the package away, out of Stiles reach. “Don’t… don’t do that.” 

Stiles lets his hand drop. “Okay.” 

Derek turns his head to where he’s still keeping the package out of reach, like he doesn’t trust Stiles not to take it back (and hell, that’s probably true, Stiles thinks), and he stares at the wreath. “What did Cora tell you?” 

“That your family used to make them,” Stiles says, gesturing, “To remind you of what was important.” 

Derek’s head snaps to him, like those are either the very wrong-est words or the very right-est ones. 

“I wanted to do something for you that, you know, had meaning,” Stiles says, and he crosses his arms over his chest, feeling uncomfortable at being so harshly interrogated about his gift. “Cora asked me not to get her one, but.” 

“Yeah, she pretended to be pissed about the bracelet,” Derek says, his eyes studying the wreath again, his voice distracted, “But she put it right on.” 

Stiles can’t help but smile at that. “Good.” 

Derek is quiet a moment, and then finally he turns, holding the wreath out in front of him. “Who’s who?” 

Stiles tries not to get excited, he really does. He can’t help it though--he feels like he’s been very clever and is anxious to show off--and he bounces back and forth a little bit on his toes before he starts pointing at the wreath. “Okay, so, the intertwining circles are for Scott,” Stiles starts at the top, “You know, like his tattoo? It’s not an exact copy, that would be weird, but it’s something you helped him with, you know, that he’s still really grateful for. 

“The light bulb is for Allison,” Stiles continues, “Because she keeps showing up in the nick of time with those flashing bulb arrows. Isaac’s is the piece of fleece, because he likes soft things. Boyd got the giant gob of glue, there, that’s intentional, nothing fell off. He’s like a piece of putty who holds crazy people together. Erica got the sunglass lenses, because she’s uh, well, always throwing sass at people. I think if she wore them she’d push them up a lot after a snarky comment, you know?”

Derek grins, like he thinks Stiles is right, and it gives Stiles the courage to keep going. 

“Lydia is the dream catcher,” he says, feeling a little fond as he says it, “Because of her freaky visions. Jackson is the lacrosse net, I really couldn’t think of something better than that for him. Peter got the nail,” Stiles says wryly, “And I admit that’s maybe because his voice sometimes sounds like a nail on a chalk board.” Stiles takes a deep breath before he continues. “Cora is the sea shells,” he says, and then his voice gets quiet as he says, “And the pine cone is for you.” 

Derek’s face comes up off the wreath to meet Stiles eyes, and Stiles holds the look, is totally aware of what he’s just done. He doesn’t know what he expects, but it isn’t for Derek to drop the wreath onto the bed and take hold of him, wrapping his arms around Stiles shoulders and pressing in close as he takes a shaky breath. 

But that’s exactly what happens, and Stiles stands there stupidly for a long moment before returning the hug, his arms coming up to pat Derek’s back reassuringly (and awkwardly, probably).

Derek doesn’t cry, really. He just breaths on Stiles shoulder, hugging him tightly, unwilling to let go. It’s comfortable, and Stiles eventually rests his hands on Derek’s waist, clasping them together. 

When Derek does pull away he doesn’t look at Stiles, but instead picks up the wreath again and sits down on Stiles bed. 

“There’s a problem with this wreath,” he says, and Stiles come over to inspect it, taking a seat beside him, suddenly worried he screwed something up. 

“What?” Stiles says, looking it over and wondering. 

“You’re not on it,” Derek says, and he very gently nudges Stiles shoulder. 

Stiles opens his mouth to reply, looks over the wreath, and then closes it. “Huh,” he answers after a moment, “I guess I didn’t think about it. Easy to forget I’m a part of this thing, sometimes.” 

“I’ll add you,” Derek says, a small smile on his face, “I know just what to put. Don’t worry.” 

***

The next time Stiles see’s Derek’s wreath, it’s nearly a year later. They’ve been through so much, but they’re all still here, and as they gather in Derek’s new apartment to eat and watch movies and spend the holiday together, Stiles finds himself sipping a soda and walking around, looking at the place. 

His eyes fall on the familiar wreath, hanging in the hallway, next to a photo of their pack taken a few weeks ago. He grins as he looks at it, still proud that he was able to do something for Derek that meant something to him, that made them closer, and was a foundation to build a real friendship on. 

But something draws his eye in the center, something new. The shiny metal charm hangs in the center of the wreath, just above the pine cone for Derek’s spiky hair, and Stiles tilts his head at it. 

“What do you think?” Derek asks, coming up behind him, sipping his own drink. 

Stiles looks at him, back at the wreath, and then he has to ask. He point to the tiny silver anchor charm, and says, “Is that me?” 

Derek catches his eye, holds his gaze for a long moment before nodding. 

Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that. Derek has added Stiles to his wreath as an anchor. The longer he stares at it, the more surreal it seems, so he looks back over to Derek again. 

Derek grins slightly, and then he reaches forward, his hand coming around the back of Stiles neck, and he leans in and presses a scruffy feeling kiss to Stiles’ forehead. 

Stiles grabs onto his shirt collar, yanks him down an inch as he tries to pull away and kisses him, full on. 

Derek leans into it, his thumb gently stroking Stiles cheek. When they pull apart, Derek pulls him close, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. 

It isn’t long before they’re called back to the rest of the pack, Cora and Erica arguing about who gets to cuddle up to between Isaac and Boyd in the giant bowl chair, but Stiles looks back over his shoulder at the wreath, the familiar words echoing in his mind. 

_To remind you what’s important,_ Stiles thinks, and he reaches out and grabs onto Derek’s pinky finger with his own, giving it a squeeze before letting go.


End file.
